


Resol'nare

by TazmainianDevil



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Family, Food, Knives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24617650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TazmainianDevil/pseuds/TazmainianDevil
Summary: The way to a Mandalorian's heart is through their stomach
Relationships: Bounty Hunter/Torian Cadera, Female Bounty Hunter/Torian Cadera
Comments: 11
Kudos: 51





	Resol'nare

**1 - Welfare of the Clan**

Torian had just finished his drills for the day and was drifting upstairs with a towel around his shoulders in search of water, only to find Mako already in the kitchen. She hummed an absent greeting at him as he pulled out a glass and filled it, before retreating to the table on the other side of the room. Two days aboard the _Mantis_ and he was still getting used to the rhythm of the ship. Sharing a space with only three others after a life spent in war camps was jarring - less people talking but more people than he was used to talking to him. 

He was happy to sit in silence with Mako, watching as she opened the chiller, and stared into it, before closing it and doing the same with the pantry cupboard, then moving back to the chiller with a despondent look. 

At the far end of the ship he heard the Champion’s door open, and a tiny smile flicked across Mako’s face. She knocked the fridge shut and pulled a ration bar out of the cupboard; one of the ones meant to provide a full day’s worth of nutrients and calories in one tasteless block of overly sweet, chewy goo. She stepped into the center of the room, squarely into the corridor that ran the length of the ship, and began pulling at the silver packaging with her teeth. 

“MAKO!” 

The ration bar slipped out of Mako’s grip for a moment and she struggled to catch it as the Champion stormed into the kitchen. 

Torian still wasn’t used to seeing her out of armour. Anything less than twenty pounds of durasteel and the blood of her foes seemed next to naked. Not that half the camp hadn’t been picturing her naked when she’d sauntered back out of that tunnel on Dromond Kaas, armour smoking with acid burns, covered in sweat and blood, with the scion’s massive heart under one arm. It was, without doubt, the hottest thing Torian had ever seen in his life. Holos of her had gone around the camp for weeks, and Corridan had cursed his good luck when Torian commed to tell him the Champion had let him join her crew.

The soft pants and rolled up sleeves made her look less like an avenging goddess, but anyone who couldn’t read the warrior in every inch of her anyway was _jare’la_. It was just that now she looked like someone you could be easy around, and Torian wanted to be around her all the time. 

“What’cha eating there, Mako?” she said around a totally unconvincing smile.

Mako cracked instantly. “Come on Boss-” was as far as she got before the Champion put out a hand. 

“Give me that crap.” 

“There’s nothing else to eat,” Mako whined as Nejia marched her over to the table and forced her into a chair. 

“You too, Cadera.” She waved at him and he froze under her scrutiny like a gizka. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll make it an order,” she continued, mistaking his surprise at being included for reticence. “Sit.” His knees buckled so fast he almost didn't make it to a chair. _Really suave,_ vod, he berated himself.

“Okay boss, if you insist.” Mako grinned at him across the table and Torian managed a nod, hoping he looked in on the joke instead of completely out of his depth. 

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” The Champion turned away from where she’d been digging through the refrigerator to point at Mako with a root vegetable. “At least tell me what you found in those SIS files while you’re sitting there.” 

Mako launched into an explanation of slicing that Torian couldn’t have hoped to follow, even if he wasn’t mesmerized by the Champion as she moved through the kitchen with the same efficiency and grace with which she moved over a battlefield. In moments, she’d set noodles to boil and laid waste to a pile of vegetables, sauteeing them in a sauce mixed together from a variety of bottles labeled in languages he didn’t recognize. 

She drained the noodles and tossed them into the pan with the rest of the ingredients, stirring quickly. “Food!” she bellowed, unnecessarily; the Devaronian was already lurking in the kitchen door. 

“Thought I heard you banging around up here. What’s on the chef’s menu today?”

“Something that won’t give you all scurvy. Grab some bowls.” The Champion laid out a sizable portion of curling noodles and bright vegetables on each dish, scraping the last of the sauce over the top. She smacked Gault’s hand away as he tried to reach for one, taking out a shaker and topping each bowl with a sprinkling of some seed or spice before she let him claim it, leaving her with three to juggle. 

Torian lurched to his feet and across the kitchen, taking two before the Champion could move. She looked up at him across the counter, and he noticed that steam had curled the tendrils of hair which fell free of her ponytail. “Hope you’re actually hungry and I’m not just force-feeding you.” Nejia smiled at him, nodding her thanks.

“Smells good,” he managed, glad he couldn’t manage the translation of _gar’gemas cuyin mesh’la_ into Basic before his brain caught up with his mouth. 

“Then sit.” She grabbed the last bowl, hip checking him towards the table. “You’re part of the crew now. That means you get fed.” 

“Won’t complain about that.” 

The noodles were good - saucy and chewy, complemented by the fresh crunch of the vegetables - nothing like he was used to but _yai’yai_ ; a head and shoulders over what he’d expected from food on a starship. It felt even better being next to Nejia, pressed shoulder to knee on the bench, as she wrapped him into the crew’s easy conversation. 

He could get used to this.

* * *

  
  


**2 - Raising Children**

“Rise and shine!” Nejia’s voice rang off the durasteel walls as she vaulted over the railing of the stairs, her armoured boots hitting the deck with a boom barely a foot from where Torian had dragged over a table for weapon maintenance. She tossed him a wink when he didn’t step back and he had to duck his head so she wouldn’t see him blush. “You know if you asked for a hand you might not have to polish your weapon so often.” 

It wasn’t even a good line but Torian leaned towards her all the same. “Something to consider. Wouldn’t want you doing all the work though.” 

Nejia’s smile ate up her entire face. She opened her mouth to say something that Torian knew was going to utterly devastate him and still couldn’t wait to hear, before a pitiful groan from Gault’s room drew her attention away. 

“Hey Gault,” she drawled, lounging against the Devaronian’s door. “Seemed like you had fun last night. 

“You should have just killed me on Tatooine.” Gault’s already nasal voice rose to a whine.

“But then I wouldn’t know why you came back drunker than a dipped dewback,” she cackled over his plea for quiet. Torian smirked as he snapped the suppressor back on his rifle, then picked up the heavy multitool he’d been using to clean off the carbon buildup. He lifted it high into the air, holding his arm out long enough for Nejia to see what he was doing and watch her eyes light up with glee before dropping it to the floor with a clang. 

Gault moaned in agony. “Please stop. I am literally begging you. What will it take to make you leave me to my slow untimely death.” 

“You know my rates,” Nejia crossed her arms over her chest, “make me an offer.” 

“Have you no pity for the partner who risked his own delicate constitution to make you a massive pile of credits?” 

“Oh, so you weren’t just wallowing over your tragic love life?”

“Hey, low blow,” Gault snapped back, the hangover making him a little more honest than he probably intended. 

Nejia vanished from Torian’s line of sight into Gault's room, her voice dropping to a much kinder volume that meant he couldn’t hear whatever she was saying until she reappeared. “Half an hour,” she called back, still half as loud as she’d been a few minutes ago. “Or I'm sending Torian to carry you.” 

Torian whipped around to stare at her, but she only patted his bicep as she passed. “Someone should get carried in those big strong arms.” Her touch was warm, even through his _kute_ , and he couldn’t make himself do anything except watch her saunter back upstairs. 

Twenty minutes later a rich savoury smell began to emanate through the ship and Gault appeared, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, looking pale despite his rust-red skin. His gait was shaky as he struggled up the stairs and after watching him falter back a step halfway up, Torian put down his electrostaff with a sigh and went to help. 

“ _K’atini_.” He braced Gault’s back with one arm and pushed at him lightly until he got going again, ignoring the irritated snarl. 

“No one knows what you’re saying, kid.” 

“Means suck it up.” 

“So harsh, from someone who looks too young to drink. This hangover is meaner than you are, baby boy.” Which just went to prove that Gault didn’t know the first thing about Mando’ade; how mean they were or how much they could drink. 

Torian didn’t let him go and watch him fall face first over the railing, but he did drop Gault into a chair just a little harder than he needed to when they got to the kitchen. Nejia gave him an exasperated look over the board where she was cubing soft white protein into blocks, but didn’t say anything. 

At her side, Blizz was perched on a chair stirring a pan of bubbling, meaty sauce. “Smells good, Boss,” he chittered, “Blizz can’t wait to eat.” 

Nejia hummed as she scraped the cubes off her board and into the pan, tilting everything so it wouldn’t splash toward Blizz. “Let me put some aside for you, before this gets properly medicinal.” She headed off the excitable Jawa’s insistence that he would like anything ‘Boss’ made, directing Blizz carefully through finishing the dish as she pulled a can of soda from the freezer, and two kolto tablets from a drawer. 

She filled three bowls with rice and topped them with the dark red concoction, handing one to Blizz and one to Torian. “Will you go take this to Mako?” She asked, gesturing toward the cockpit as she pulled out a jar of reddish paste and stirred a massive spoonful into the pan with the remains of the protein mixture. 

By the time he got back, Nejia was setting another bowl with no rice in front of Gault, along with the tablets and the icy soda. “Take those and eat,” she insisted, procuring a similar portion for herself and jabbing a spoon into his shoulder until he lifted his horns off the table. “You’ll either hurl and feel better, or it’ll burn the hangover right out of you.” 

“Who are you, my mother?” 

Nejia snorted. “That’s right. This ship is just full of my dysfunctional children. Torian, you can be the dad.” 

He caught the _gedet’ye_ just before it tumbled off his tongue. The idea of a family with Nejia was impossible, obviously, but also incredible. Just the thought of rebuilding Clan Cadera with her had him biting back a dreamy smile. But, of course, Nejia belonged to Clan Lok now and he was still _arue’tal_ in the eyes of too many, with nothing to offer but his weapon and his life. He’d be content to give both to her and win honour at her side. 

He snatched up his bowl and took a huge mouthful to stop himself from imagining what a kitchen like this might look like with a table full of children instead of whining devaronians. It was delicious, rich and savoury, with just a tiny kick of _heturam_ under the rice.

“I am at least the handsome, intelligent, rakish uncle,” Gault groused. 

“You are gonna be wishing you were only hungover if you don’t quit your bitching and eat.” 

Gault downed both tablets with a swig of soda that made him sigh with relief. He put the icy can against his forehead for a moment and some of the tension bled out of his face. “Oh that’s nice.” Apparently reassured, he scooped up a massive spoonful of food. “Maybe-” was as far as he got before his eyes went wide. 

Gault cleared his throat, then wheezed in a huge gasp of air and doubled over, smacking his palms against the table. He glared at Nejia accusingly, his mouth working but no sound coming out. Nejia smirked around her spoon and pushed the can of soda towards him. Gault took a long sip, tried to speak and had to take another before he could manage it. “Holy karking Sith hells, what is in that?” 

“Cleared your head, didn’t it?” Nejia said mildly as she kept eating. There was no rice on hers either. 

“So would a shockblast to the neck and it might be less painful.” He took another bite, like he couldn’t be sure it had really been as bad as he’d been complaining about. “I’m on fire. You're just lighting me on fire now.” There was sweat beading on his upper lip.

Blizz shifted chairs reaching for Gault’s plate. “Blizz want to try the spicy sauce. Ship cold anyway.”

“Oh whoa, hey-” Nejia swiped the spoon out of his hand. “First, if you’re cold you should tell me. I wouldn’t mind running the ship a little warmer than we do and we’ve got the credits right now.”

“Why boss not say? Blizz just reconfigure engine heat output, keep ship toasty”

“Well tank tops for everyone then, thanks Blizz. Second, that’s Gault’s, there’s more in the pan. Start slow!” she called after him as Blizz fairly rocketed across the kitchen, Torian at his heels, eager for more of that _heturam_ sensation. “That stuff has a kick you might not be used to, and if you waste this fine food I slaved over-”

“You love it!” Mako shouted from the cockpit and the same time as Gault gave up on complaining to say “That barely took you ten minutes.”

“If you don’t appreciate the food I make you, I'm gonna be pissed!” Nejia finished loudly over them both. Well she certainly sounded ready to raise a clan of disobedient, hardheaded warriors.

* * *

  
  


**3 - Language**

The _Mantis_ was a nice ship. Homey. Gault liked to complain it was a rustbucket but Mako said he’d helped with improvements when he’d joined the crew, and Nejia had put in the kitchen the minute they’d gotten their first Great Hunt payout. The two seperate floors made it feel less like being stuck in a tin can too, which was good when you spent as much time in space as they did, but the open concept and Torian’s sharp ears meant that he overheard just about everything. 

-

“Why do you bother with all that anyway?” Mako was sitting cross legged on the kitchen table watching Nejia stir something on the stove. She waved at Torian as he passed through to the cockpit, but didn’t stop talking. “I mean it's nice to have good food, don’t get me wrong, but I’m sure everyone on this ship is used to ready meals and packs.” 

“I can stop anytime you’re sick of eating things with actual flavour,” Nejia said mildly, abandoning what she was stirring in favour of a knife and cutting board, making quick work of some kind of fowl, plucked and waiting. She cut through the joints and the breastbone in smooth, long slices, separating the meat easily into even pieces. 

“Oh hey no, no one said stop,” Mako backtracked, “I just mean, it looks like a lot of work. Like you do a lot of-” she made a slicing motion through the air with the blade of her hand. “Doesn't really seem like something you’d be interested in.” 

Nejia looked up from the board, quirking one eyebrow at Mako, with that carefully blank look on her face that always meant trouble. She lifted her knife,up demonstratively until it and her arm were at shoulder height. “Skarwing,” Nejia said, with a nod at the partially deboned bird on the counter. Then she twisted her wrist into a reverse grip, the knife shifting so the dull side of the blade ran along her forearm, braced in a position to slice at an oncoming attacker. “Thugs,” she finished, cutting through the air as though gutting an imaginary assailant. “This keeps my skills sharp and it’s tasty.” 

Mako’s eyes were wide as saucers, as she watched Nejia twirl the knife between her fingers and go back to cutting. “Forget I asked.” 

-

“So what’s with the feeding?” It was Gault asking this time. He never turned down Nejia’s cooking, but he always seemed slightly suspicious of it. 

“Habit,” she shrugged, tossing sliced green onions into a deep, round pan. They started sizzling immediately and she shook the pan to coat them with whatever else was already in there. “I once pretended to be a short order cook at a diner on Coruscant for three straight months trying to get the drop on a bigwig who liked the food there. It was the only place he’d go with less than seven bodyguards.”

“Seven doesn’t seem like so many for you.” 

“Seven _houk_ bodyguards,” Nejia corrected. “Besides, I was young, I could barely take five houk at once.” She threw in another handful of vegetables and gave the pan a final shake, nodding at it, then turned the contents of the pan out over a fan of sliced protein, creating a pile of bright colours and sticky sauce. “At least before I learned to mask the taste of sleeping pills in the food.” She pulled a fork from the drawer and offered it to him. 

Gault looked suspiciously from the plate of steaming food, mouthwateringly redolent of garlic and spices, to the fork, to Nejia’s devious grin. “But you wouldn’t poison your partner in crime right?” He laughed, conman’s affability not quite covering his concern. 

“Of course not.” Nejia watched him spear a pepper. “Not as long as he quits asking personal questions.” 

Gault swallowed his mouthful. “Noted.” 

-

“Nobody cook much in Blizz’ old crew. Only pot meal, every day brown. Boss much better.” 

“Thanks, Blizz.” Nejia handed the Jawa a spoonful of whatever she was working on. “Too sweet?” 

The spoon disappeared into the depths of his hood and reappeared clean. “Just right, not too hot like Boss likes.”

“Well it's for everyone.” She pulled the steamer off the heat, putting the basket down next to where Blizz was carefully examining each piece of cutlery, as though appraising its value or imagining what it could be turned into. 

“Why? None of Blizz’ other bosses bother with food. White Maw just scavenge and steal.” 

“Well it's hard to scavenge in space.”

“Blizz manage, lots to find wherever we dock! Can show Boss!” He stopped, his hood drooping. “Blizz make inventions though, not food.” 

“Food’s like an invention.” Nejia shrugged, waving Blizz towards the intercom, so he could call the rest of them in for dinner. “You scavenge great tech and make heat shields, I scavenge up new ingredients and make something tasty.” 

“Aha!” the Jawa squeaked. “Blizz knew Boss was scavenger. Understand now. Will keep a look out for good food scavenge at next stop.” 

“Thanks Blizz.” She smiled. “Grab a few more plates.”

-

“Can look out for new game if you’re running short,” Torian managed, eventually. After a week of considering whether he’d be intruding if he said anything. “Next time we land somewhere with hunting.” 

Nejia looked up at him over the greens she was cutting free from their roots. “Didn’t think you’d hunt something that was for eating, not fighting.” 

“Gotta keep a war camp fed.” He shrugged. “Most of us can get a decent stew going. Never had a commander who did so much, though. Could take over some, if you’d rather not.”

“I like doing it.”

“Figured as much. Thought I’d offer though. Unexpected.” 

Nejia laid her knife down carefully, turning away to the sink to rinse her hands. She waited until her back was to him before speaking. “What do Mandalorians think of those who don’t fight?” 

He blinked, unsure of what she meant. “All Mando’ade fight.” 

“Okay,” Nejia sounded dubious but she still wasn’t looking at him. “But some people must do other things. Doctors, builders.” She glanced over her shoulder, bright eyes darting to his. “Chefs.” 

“Oh.” That made sense. “In camp they direct the warriors.” Everyone knew a little when it came to bandaging wounds or feeding themselves but specialists were vital. At least they were supposed to be. Mandos like Jogo might think only warriors were important, but he wouldn’t get far without Djin stitching him up. 

She turned back around, but kept her eyes on the counter, rolling an onion between her hands. “It's not… shameful?” There was a tiny furrow between her brows. Torian wanted to press his lips to it. Maybe. If it was something she would like. He’d kiss her right there and the line of tension would ease under his lips, and she’d look up at him and laugh. 

But she still looked uncertain, more so than he’d ever seen her. A horrible thought occurred to Torian. “You want to stop hunting?” It was unimaginable. The whole universe would cry out at the wrongness of it. She embodied _mandokarla_ ; she was a warrior down to her bones. 

“No!” All Nejia’s trepidation vanished and for a moment, Torian was looking again at the Champion of the Great Hunt. “No,” she repeated, relaxing. “I could never give this up. It’s like you said, fighting lets you know who you are. It's just - I know Mandalorians are big on lineage.” 

“Not really. _Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la_ ,” he shrugged. “Only matters what kind of parent you’ll be.” 

“Oh, but… Jincoln?” 

The name sent a sharp ache through him. Apparently it was too much to hope for that she would have forgotten who his father was, forgotten how much further Torian still had to go before Clan Cadera could be worthy of someone like her. “Traitor. Different.”

She looked like she wanted to apologize, but she didn’t, which was good. Instead, she darted a look left and right, checking the cockpit and the lounge before leaning in. There was a whole counter between them, but Torian struggled to keep his breathing even, to not lean further in and catch that smell of spices, detonite, and sweet shampoo that always surrounded her. 

“My mother was a chef,” Nejia admitted, the words coming out slow at first, then picking up speed, “on a little fuling moon in the middle of nowhere, but she was the best in the sector. Spacers used to say that her food was worth the extra travel and the Republic bribes for docking.” She was watching his face intently. Not smiling, or smirking, or inviting, just looking. Searching him for something. 

Judgement. The thought hit him like a slug between the eyes and Torian had to force himself not to gape. She was worried he’d think less of her for not being born of warriors. As though she wasn’t the grand champion. As though Mandalore himself hadn’t brought her into Clan Lok. But she’d told him anyway. She’d wanted him to know her. 

“Sounds worthy,” he said, honest. “What was her favourite dish?”

Nejia laughed, the tension sliding out of her. She turned to the fridge and pulled out a beer, tossing one to him as well. “Oh, this crew couldn’t handle mom’s favourite. Too spicy.” 

And she doubted she was a Mando. Torian shook his head. Ridiculous.

* * *

  
  


**4 - Self-Defense**

Blacklist bounties paid exorbitantly but they were few and far between. Nothing stayed at the top of the top too long; so, between them, Nejia liked to take what she called pro bono bounties - so named after a marathon watching legal holodramas with Mako. 

Not that she didn’t take money for them, of course. She just took less than her services were worth, and she got the chance to select, as she called it, a real winner. 

The lucky winner wanted on a slab today was one Dr. Carida, a _demagolka_ who’d taken to growing organs in undocumented refugees while promising to help them relocate to safe planets. He’d left a string of corpses and confused, grieving families behind him then eeled his way back to the Core and his prestigious research position, making a name for himself with the data he’d carved out of the innocent. 

Carida was loaded, paranoid and politically protected. A bad combination for a bounty, but a worse one when the person putting it up could barely afford to pay. Still, he was definitely someone who didn’t deserve to keep breathing. 

So here they were on Tinnel IV, well into Republic space where Nejia had a ten million credit bounty on her head, hiding in the summer house of respected member of the medical field with rabid personal security and ties to no fewer than three planetary governments, and who really enjoyed cutting people open and taking out their organs, for a bounty that wouldn’t cover fuel for a month. 

Mako had sliced the Doctor’s schedule, and the up-to-the-minute itinerary of his bodyguards, so they knew he was on his way. They’d boosted over the fence at the back of the property and Torian had taken out the three patrolling guards from a sniper’s position in a tree as Nejia navigated the sensor-covered lawn to plug a new toy from Blizz into the security system that registered their bioscans as part of the security team. 

The inside of the house was open and high-ceilinged: fashionable, sleek, and full of great firing lines. Torian had set himself up on the second floor, overlooking the foyer, with his rifle in the perfect spot to headshot anyone arriving behind their target. Nejia was on the ground floor, settled in behind the kitchen counter with her blasters out, ready to get the drop on Carida the moment he came through the door.

The whole thing had gone smooth as silk and it was making Torian nervous.

“You alright there, Tor?” As though she’d read his thoughts, Nejia’s husky voice came curling through the comm in his ear. 

_Call me Tor again_ , he wanted to say, even though it wasn’t necessary. Nejia always did. He tore his eyes away from the shape of her profile in the moonlight, scanning through the windows again. “Jumping at shadows.”

“I don’t know.” She started to uncoil from her crouch. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

There was a faint flash of light through the glass door, like the reflection off metal, and the machine hum of the house’s systems rose in pitch. “Incoming!” was all Torian managed to shout before there was a pulse of noise and light. Electricity snapped against his face as the EM field shorted his comm, along with every electronic system in the building. He heard Nejia curse, and the clatter of her inert blasters as she dropped them to the floor, then the door burst open and a wave of security rushed through. 

Torian abandoned his rifle, pulling his staff from its place on his back as he vaulted the railing. He landed hard, rolling forward and trying to close the gap between himself and the guards before they could shoot Nejia when the first one dropped, the handle of a knife blooming from their throat. 

Nejia lept from the cover of the counter toward the magnetic strip on the wall displaying a fan of kitchen knives. Almost without turning, she threw one at a Weequay aiming for her. The blade sunk deep into the meat of their bicep, sending their shot wild. Another knife flew from her left hand to bury itself in a guard’s temple. Nejia scooped up half a dozen blades each hand and hurled herself back behind the counter in a storm of blasterfire. 

By that time, Torian was on the enemy. His first strike lifted a guard off their feet and sent them crashing to the ground in a crunch of cheap armour and bone. Torian clubbed them once, then pivoted to crack his staff down on another’s rifle, just in time for Nejia to come vaulting over the counter and kick them in the head. 

She raced past Torian and leapt for the injured Weequay, ripping the knife from his arm and driving it into his side. Punching him in the throat, she dragged his body around to block herself and Torian from a rain of shots. 

Torian swept the legs out from under the dazed guard. Nejia dropped her dead shield, turning to fling one knife into the groin of Torian’s opponent, and another into the chest of a Nikto who’d overloaded their blaster pack. 

Behind Nejia’s shoulder, Torian saw the last guard fumbling their gun up, and rolled forward, trying to get between her and the gunner before they could fire.

“Hold!” Nejia yelled.

Torian froze, staring down the barrel as a knife passed inches in front of his nose. The gunner turned to watch it stick deep into the forehead of their only remaining ally, and Nejia slammed full force into them, her whole bodyweight behind the blade she plunged into their chest. 

She landed astride the gunner, yanking the knife free to stab it down again with both hands, driving the point through layers of plasteel and ballistic fiber. The gunner twitched once and went still. Nejia shook her hair out of her eyes, and stood, surveying her handiwork. 

Eight dead. Seven kills hers without firing a single shot. It was glorious. _She_ was glorious. _Kandosii'la_. Torian felt like his blood was on fire. 

She was saying something, grinning at him. Torian managed a response that might have been acceptable but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the droplet of sweat rolling down the line of her neck. He wanted to follow with his tongue. “Injuries?” he forced out instead.

“Some bruises, armour took most of it.” She pressed gingerly at the seam where her chestplate met her shoulder, testing. Satisfied, she rolled her shoulder once and gave him a grin. “I should let you play the vanguard more often. You alright?”

Torian’s palms ached with the need to touch her. He wanted to take her right here, bite his way into her grinning mouth, drag her to the floor and let her ride him, bloody and flush with victory. He wanted to peel her armour off and touch her everywhere, til he could be sure she was still whole and safe, check her bruises and clean her hair and _worship_ her. 

He tapped his breastplate with a fist to hide how his hands were shaking. “You didn’t even scratch my paint.”

Nejia snorted. “As if I would. I am a fucking surgeon with a knife, Tor, you oughta know that by now.” She reclaimed her blasters from under the counter and hoisted up one of the guards’ abandoned rifles. “Speaking of which, our fucking surgeon is getting away.”

-

Torian took second turn in the fresher when they made it back to the ship, and stayed in a long time, letting the water run cold over his head until his blood cooled with it. The ship was quiet when he finally got out, pulling on old soft clothes to help ease himself towards rest. Gault’s and Mako’s doors were shut. There was soft snoring coming from the hammock Blizz had set up in the engine bay. And there was the faint, rhythmic thump of a knife on a cutting board from upstairs. 

Nejia was in the kitchen, hair damp and loose around her shoulders, a glass of something amber at her elbow. The counter was spread with bread and cheese, and she was cutting a pickle into long thin slices. “You want a sandwich?” she began to ask, looking up from her work, then froze.

“Stars,” the word left her in a breath, her eyes raking over his too-small, sleeveless tank, which he suddenly remembered had holes in more than a few places, and the pants that were so old and stretched out they barely hung onto his hips. His hair was probably still dripping water. But Nejia had seen him bleeding out and covered in Rakghoul filth, so any chance of impressing her with his looks was long gone anyway. 

“Fuck!” She recoiled back from the counter, clutching her hand where the knife she’d been using had sliced into her finger. “Fuck, fucking shit that stings.”

“ _Me'vaar ti gar_ ?” He rushed around the counter to guide her unnecessarily to the sink, watching the water run over the wound. It wasn’t long but she’d cut deep. “ _Haar'chak! Ulyc, cyar’ika, ne cabur teh kalikin gar._ ” He pulled out the kitchen medkit, hunting through it for kolto gel and a bandage. Nejia reached for a kitchen towel to apply pressure to the cut but he snatched it back, taking her hand and dabbing the blood away with gauze, before applying the gel and wrapping it again, squeezing lightly. “ _Scrann ne’shupuur gar,_ Nejia _.”_

“Tor,” she murmured. “Torian.”

“ _Me’bana?”_ He realized he was rubbing the base of her injured finger and made himself stop. 

“I can’t understand you.” 

“Oh.” He wanted to let go, knew he should let go. But the bleeding would stop faster with pressure to help the bacta seal. “You should be careful.”

She hummed, noncommittally. “You talk more in Mando’a.”

“Things make more sense in Mando’a.” Nejia’s hand was warm in his. He could pick out the places where her gun callouses matched and didn’t match his own. Even in his first language, he couldn't put into words how that made his chest tighten. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“If I answer, I get to ask you something personal.”

“Fair enough.” He swallowed heavily, looking down at their joined hands for a moment. He wanted more of this, and he wouldn’t get it without asking. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Nejia looked surprised for a moment. “No,” she said softly, “but I could be talked into it by the right guy.” 

“Really?” It came out as more of a breath than an actual word. “I’ll have to remember that.” He could be that guy. He would be that guy, whoever it was, that could make the Champion swoon. He’d figure it out. “Guess it’s only fair I let you ask one too. Shoot.”

She tipped her chin up. “What do you look for in a woman?”

_You,_ he wanted to say but didn’t. _I didn’t even know what there was to look for until I saw you._ “The usual,” he said instead, clawing for nonchalance and probably missing by a parsec. “She has to be a better shot than me, and she has to be Mandalorian.”

Something shuttered in Nejia’s face, her eyes going flat even as she smirked at him. “Well, well, we should go back to Hutta,” she teased, taking a step back and a swig of her drink. “That’s damn near everyone there.” 

He laughed, clutching his chest theatrically. “Ouch.” 

“Thank you for the patch job.” She waved her injured hand and headed for the door. “Take the sandwich if you want it or leave the cleanup for Two-Vee, I’m going to bed.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


**5 - Armour**

Torian dodged out of the way just before the staff would have come down on his thigh. The crack of it hitting the deckplates rang loudly through the cargo bay and Nejia bared her teeth in frustration as he shifted back to their starting positions. 

They fought like this nearly every morning when they weren’t planetside. At first it was just him leading her through a kata sequence, getting her used to the heft and swing of the weighted staff, but slowly she’d gained more skill and they'd moved on to sparring. 

He’d been impressed with her tenacity, her willingness to fail as she learned. Too many warriors lost the appetite for new skills when they grew old enough to have mastered others. There was a joy in watching her improve as well. She couldn’t put him down often yet, but it was happening more as they grew more evenly matched. 

Today she was aggressive, distractible. It had been getting worse all week but this time she’d started calling out points in the first few swings, turning what was usually an easy game into more pointed competition. Nejia moved too far into a blow, letting herself be baited by his feint and Torian smacked the length of his staff lightly against her side. “Concentrate.” 

Her chin drew down, jaw tightening, but she didn't speak. 

Was she not feeling well? There was no extra tension around her eyes that might have indicated a headache. She hadn't been moving stiffly before they’d started. She and Mako had been talking over the search for Mako’s family a lot lately. Maybe Nejia was worried for her. “Nothing wrong with drills if you’re not in the mood for a fight.” 

She didn’t step back. “I’m up for it.” She brought the staff into a ready position, no teasing in her words. 

There’d been no teasing at all in days. No comments, no looks, no touching. She’d pulled back from him. Must have found him wanting somewhere. Torian felt as though he’d missed the _Mantis_ ’ top stair in the dark, fumbling for something that wasn’t there. “Alright, _verd_.” He nodded, stepping back into the ready position. 

Nejia came at him hard, forcing him to parry and step back. He blocked a side strike one-handed, taking the glancing blow so he could scoop his other arm under her guard and throw her over his shoulder. 

She hit the deck with a thump and growled, rolling into a crouch. “In a real fight that would have electrocuted you.” 

“Real fight the armour would have stopped most of it.” He kept his staff aimed at her as she slowly stood. “I can take the pain.” 

“Masochist.”

“Mandalorian.” 

They spiraled back together for another furious exchange of blows. Breaking apart to circle one another again, looking for openings. “And Mandos are the best at everything, huh?”

“Toughest maybe. Good fighters, good mates,” he couldn’t resist adding. Hopeful and foolish, but maybe if he made himself an easy target she’d take it, make a joke, or even just let the tension drop out of her. 

He twisted around her, caging her between his body and his staff, seeing if she’d rise to the bait and lean back against him for a breath or take the opening to set him on his ass again, as she’d done on Taris. She dropped to the ground instead, swinging out at his legs and forcing him to jump back. He kept his stance and kept talking. “We even like our food to be a challenge. Hetikleyc, hetikles.”

“I don’t-” she spun, twisting under his swing and started raining blows down on him; battering his defenses rather than trying to move around them. Bad strategy against a stronger opponent but she seemed more interested in punctuating her words with the strikes. “Know. What. That. Means. Torian!”

“Noseburn. Spice. That’s how you know it's good.”

Nejia’s eyes narrowed at him over their crossed staves. “And you think Mandalorians have the market cornered on spicy?” There she was. The little growl in her voice, the quirk of her brow. He had her hooked on a challenge now and she came at him hard to prove she wasn’t happy about it. 

Torian nodded, lips twitching. He couldn’t keep the victorious smile from his face. _Come on_ cyar’ika _._ He threw off her next blow, pleased when she twisted out of the way. Instead of straightening she dropped to one knee and thrust the staff into the gap between his legs. He realized her plan too late and she rolled out of the way of his counterstrike, wrenching her whole body around his leg, driving the staff up behind his knee, and knocking him to the ground. 

He landed hard on his back, Nejia over him, panting. She pulled on the leg lock a moment longer than necessary to prove she had him pinned. “You know Torian,” she gasped, letting go and stepping back into the ready position, “you talk a big game but I don’t think you know what real spice is.”

He rolled to his feet and brought his staff up. “Been eating your food a while.” 

Nejia snorted in derision. “You think what I make for the kids counts? You don’t know the half of it.”

“Like to find out.” And who cared if it felt like a _jaro_ when she was looking at him properly again. He brought the staff down overhand, and had to pull the blow short when she stepped into it head first. 

“Fine,” she said hotly, eyes on his and not the length of cortosis half an inch above her forehead. “If you think you’re hard enough, I’ll make something special tonight.” She whirled away, dropping her staff on the weapons rack and marching upstairs in a huff. 

Torian watched her go, making sure she was out of view before he raised his hands into the air in victory. 

-

He took his time cleaning up their sparring area, and then cleaning it again when Blizz came rushing through with what looked like a schematic on a scrap of flimsi and rifled through every box in the cargo hold. Too excited to settle, Torian went in search of the others and found Mako perched next to the holoterminal in the makeshift seating area they’d thrown together out of empty crates and spare pillows. 

She was looking between something on her datapad and a film stream he didn’t recognize but stopped doing both to glare at him when he tried to say hello. “What did you do?” she whispered. 

There was a bang and a clatter from the kitchen and Gault’s protest echoed down the hall. Mako pointed one arm in the direction of the noise, every line of her small body a demand. “Fix it!” 

Torian opened his mouth to protest but she just pointed more emphatically, narrowing her eyes in a way that she probably meant to make her look intimidating, but really just looked like it hurt the skin around her cybernetics. 

Still it was easier to cooperate and hopefully find out what she thought he’d done. He followed her angry pointing down the hall to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to watch Nejia bang the chiller door shut and throw a package of frozen bones down on the counter. She dumped them roughly into a big pot with a rope of green stems, then rolled some round white tubers onto her cutting board and cracked them hard in half with the flat of an enormous knife before tossing them in as well. 

“I can't have my partner off her game,” Gault was half in a chair pulled up to the other side of the counter and halfway through an attempt to calm Nejia that didn’t seem to be working, “so what's eating you and how can we fix it in five minutes or less?” He threw his hands up in surrender when Nejia glared. “Hey, I’m just trying to be supportive with whatever this is.”

“This isn’t anything.” She put down her knife very carefully instead of sinking it point first into the cutting board like she obviously wanted to. “Get out of my kitchen, before I make you taste tester.”

“Touchy, touchy. Just let me know if I need to find an extinguisher for the food or-” Gault looked from her to Torian and back, smirking as he slid out of the room. “-anything else.”

“Gault!” Nejia looked up to see Torian hovering in the doorway and her expression instantly shifted from plaintive to closed off. “Not done yet,” she practically barked. 

“Nowhere else to be,” he managed. “Heard you need a taster.”

Nejia’s glare softened for a moment before she set her shoulders and turned away. He’d never seen someone pour water angrily before, but she was doing a good job of it. _Ramikadyc_ , he steeled himself. If Nejia was going to shoot him, she’d have done it already. Probably even somewhere non-fatal. 

In the silence he heard Gault grousing about Mako’s movie choices, and a few moments later the sound of canned laughter started up from the terminal. Nejia cocked her head, listening for a moment, then huffed a laugh, some of the beskar slipping out of her spine. “Gault is so old,” she muttered, half to herself. 

“You recognize it,” Torian couldn’t help but point out. 

“You spent your childhood in the wilds of Dxun or somewhere. You don’t know anything about popular culture.”

“You got your _gai bal manda_ wearing armour,” he reminded her, “doesn't mean all Mandos are born in beskar.” 

“Oh so baby Torian watched a lot of ‘Bixer’s Padawan Adventures’?”

Torian shook his head. “No way that’s real.”

“That holocartoon is a sacred right of childhood. Just for that I should make you watch it.” She trailed off, mirth slipping away from her face, and busied herself draining the large pot of dried peppers she’d been reconstituting. “Mako’s got it all on the system somewhere. Ask her.” 

Gault’s abandoned chair was still against the counter and he took it, watching as she rocked the blade of her knife quickly back and forth over the reconstituted peppers, building a pile of bright red mince. 

“You don’t know what _gai bal manda_ means, do you?” 

Nejia flipped the pile into the waiting pan with the flat of her knife and a noise of exasperation. “Torian…” she shook her head and didn’t continue. 

“Did Mandalore teach you the Resol’nare when he adopted you into his clan?”

“There was a lot in Mandalorian,” she bit out. “Could have been talking about the weather for all I know.”

“Sort of what I thought.” Torian shook his head. Had Mandalore really not explained or had he just assumed Nejia understood Mando’a because she was so good at picking things up from context? “Resol'nare means ‘six actions’. The core of Mandalorian life. Speaking the language is a big one. I could teach you,” he offered. “If you’re up for it.”

Nejia tossed a handful of seeds into the hot pan with a humorless smile, keeping her eyes on it as it hissed and popped musically. “Sure you should be?

“Think Mandalore wants to teach you himself?” It would make sense that Mandalore would want her to learn Clan Lok’s particular traditions, but there weren’t really any dialect differences. “Would have thought he’d started already.”

“Tor…” Nejia stopped stirring and braced both hands on the counter. She stared at the metal for a long moment, brow furrowed, before she took a deep breath and looked him right in the eye. “The Vindicated brought me into the clan because he needed a Mandalorian to stand with the grand champions and Soongh was dead. He didn’t…. it's not _real_.”

Torian would have been less surprised if she’d reached across the counter and gutted him. _Osi’kyr_! How could she think that? “Did you a disservice if you believe that. No halfway with an adoption.”

“I don’t know the history, or the reso-things, or any of it Tor. Two minutes of ceremony and three days of him calling me _ad_ don’t make me Clan or whatever.” She hid her sadness badly and Torian absolutely needed to make it go away. What kind of _utreekov shabiir_ would put her through the _gai bal manda_ without a word? Something inside him protested that it wasn’t just anyone’s _buir_ he was cursing, it was Mandalore. But, for the first time in a lifetime of struggling to be a perfect Mando, Torian found himself completely in sync with his father in wanting to punch Mandalore the Vindicated right in the face. 

“Daughter,” Torian managed around the lump of pure fury in his throat.

“What?”

“ _Ad_. Means daughter, child. It counts, Nejia. To us it counts.” 

“Oh.” It was more of a noise than a word, like someone had punched the sound out of her. She leaned her face into the sharp, fragrant steam rising off the pan and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. He ached for her, hating that she’d been made to feel so uncertain, hoping she wouldn’t refuse the whole thing on principle. 

“Well,” Nejia pulled back and looked at him with a hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth, “something to keep in mind.” She picked up her spoon again and pointed it at his nose, softness vanishing under her usual teasing smirk. “I’m not giving this up to eat whatever bland food you think is spicy, though.”

He ducked his head in agreement, knowing he was smiling like a fool. 

Nejia left her pan to simmer and took a large piece of a bantha he’d bagged for her from the chiller. Cutting the meat into thin slices, she arranged them raw on a plate. 

“What are you making?” 

“Gonna look it up?” Nejia challenged. “See what you’re in for?”

“You mentioned your mother’s favourite.” He shrugged. “Wondered if this was it.”

“You remembered that, huh?” The movements of her knife slowed for a moment. “I think so,” she said eventually. “It's what she made for special occasions, anyway.” 

“ _Ori'skraan_ ,” he said, sounding the word out for her slowly. “Special occasion food.” 

Her look of surprise shifted almost instantly into a delighted smile. “Ori’skraan,” she repeated. “My mother would shame me forever if she knew I hadn't made the base at least a day in advance. But -” she shrugged off the worry, continuing before he could interrupt with an offer to wait. “Mom never served this in the restaurant. Said it was too much work. We’d have it for holidays and my name day, when there was time we could snatch for ourselves.

“After,” After what he didn’t know, and Nejia didn’t clarify, but there were years in the weight of the word, “when I was paying for my way and my training, cooking and running intel, I made this to celebrate the captain’s name day. I’d been making all the dishes I could remember from the restaurant but I wanted to do something special for her. So,” she gestured grandly to the bubbling medley of peppers and spices. “Of course it never occured to me that not everyone liked things hot. Oh, I made her cry.”

There was a distinct, adorable note of pride in Nejia’s voice. The thought of her as a tiny _verd’ika_ reducing a crew of hunters and smugglers to tears made him want to sprinkle kisses over her cheeks. 

“I haven’t made it since,” she added, nearly under her breath, as though she’d forgotten until now. It didn’t matter if her food was bland as _haashun_ and twice as gritty; Torian decided then and there he would love it. 

Nejia lifted the cooked paste of spices and peppers out of the deep pan, ladling it into a wide, shallow metal bowl that might have been a scrap of hull plating before Blizz got a hold of it. She checked the bubbling pot of broth, then redoubled her slicing. An array of plates began to grow across the counter. Wafer thin strips of pressed protein, thinly sliced vegetables, and nests of soft noodles each got their own dish, next to the strips of bantha meat and finely sliced nerf rolled in spices. Nejia even cut a fistfull of tender stems from the leafy green plants she’d been cultivating on the kitchen hydroponic wall. 

“All this?” Torian asked, when she finally seemed satisfied with the number of dishes. 

“ _Ori'skraan.”_ she replied in that low, smoky voice that always made his breath catch. “Besides, it has to be a worthy challenge, right?”

She checked the broth again and yelled for Blizz, who came bustling upstairs with a thin rectangular machine that he set into the middle of the kitchen table. Nejia added the broth to the makeshift bowl and set it atop the machine, where it began to slowly bubble, vivid red and dotted with floating peppers.

“Is it ready?” Mako peered in from the door. “I saw Blizz come through.” She waited until Nejia’s back was turned before mouthing ‘Well?’ at Torian. He gave her a quick nod and gestured her towards the kitchen table, where Blizz had already claimed a seat. 

“Where’s Gault?”

“Heading downstairs,” Mako shrugged. “He said he was having a liquid dinner.” 

“Knew I shouldn’t have gotten him that Corellian brandy.” Nejia darted out of the kitchen, and reappeared dragging the Devaronian by the collar. “At least try it!”

Gault whined. “I know there’s a lot of associations between Devaronians and Mustafar, but we don’t actually like the heat.” 

Nejia smacked a bowl of herbaceous sauce down in front of him. “Try it with this,” she ordered, handing out bowls to the rest of them. “This is a ritual meal. It's meant to be shared with people you _love_ , you ungrateful assholes.” 

“Of course we’ll try it.” Mako had been eyeing the bubbling red broth suspiciously, but the moment Nejia mentioned having any kind of feelings other than lust for credits, her expression went soft. Judging by the smirk haunting the corner of Nejia’s mouth, it was a trick, but that didn’t make it any less effective. 

Nejia walked them through the process: taking the thinly cut meat and piling it into the broth, to be fished out piece by piece as it cooked, picking up flavour and adding it to the pot in turn. She fished out a morsel and dipped it in her bowl of sauce, gesturing for each of them to do the same before taking a bite. 

For a brief moment all Torian could taste was the herby creaminess of the sauce. Then the spice bloomed on his tongue like blazing sunlight.

He abandoned his bowl of dipping sauce, eating right out of the communal pot to get more of the incredible flavours. He could taste deep meatiness from the rich broth, floral and tingling spices, a tang like the rind of a citrus fruit. And, burning through it, the brilliant, numbing spice. Every mouthful was _draluram_ , vivid as the colour of the broth itself. 

Gault gave up after a few bites, stuffing a forkful of raw greens into his mouth and slipping away with a word to Nejia about how much he appreciated the gesture and never wanted to do it again. She just waved him off. “Better men than you have been felled by this one Gault. I won’t even mock you for it.”

Torian could understand why. Though it was delicious, he couldn’t deny that it rode the edge of pleasure and pain. As the broth kept bubbling, the spice of each bite grew. The dipping sauce cooled the burn for a little while, but slowly the hot broth and oil began to mix into it, adding another layer of flavour to every mouthful. 

“Why is it getting hotter?” Mako leaned back in her chair and chugged her drink down, waving her hand as if to cool her mouth. “I can’t! Nejia how are you eating that?” she wheezed. “It's making my eyes sting!” 

Nejia pulled out one of the thin slices of meat rolled in spices and ate it in one bite, not breaking eye contact with Mako until she swallowed and gave a satisfied hum. “Ration bars in the cupboard.” She smirked. 

“You are the worst.” Mako tucked a bar into each pocket and drained another glass of water before retreating from the spice battlefield. “Thank you, but you’re the actual worst.”

“Love you too!” Nejia considered the picked over spread and added a few root vegetables to the bubbling pot, looking to Torian and Blizz. “You boys hanging in there?”

Torian nodded but Blizz, who had been stirring a piece of meat slowly in his dipping bowl, made a sound like a mournful teakettle. “Boss make rice?” he asked slowly, after a moment. 

Nejia winked at him. “On the counter, Blizz.” She watched him fill a bowl that was almost a serving dish for a sentient his size and helped him add an array of food and a very small drizzle of broth to the top. He poured the dipping sauce over the whole thing and nodded at his creation. “Blizz gonna go finish plasma bolt project! Thanks Boss. Like red pot better than brown!”

“Thanks for making the set up!” she called after him. “Smartest one of the bunch,” she said to Torian, as she drew out another twist of broth-soaked protein and offered it to him. “Still hungry?”

Torian looked from the food to her, the fire in his stomach making him bold. He leaned forward and ate the piece right off her fork. Letting his eyes fall closed, he savoured the way it burned across his pallet and the layers of flavour underneath. “Oh yeah.” 

When he looked again, Nejia’s cheeks were flushed from the intensity of the spice. Torian could feel a matching warmth across his own face. His whole mouth was alive with a sensation that was completely different from the _heticlys_ he’d been anticipating, but incredibly good.

Across the table, Nejia smiled at him with lips swollen from the heat. His own mouth was tingling and Torian wanted to lean forward and kiss her; spread the delicious burning between them and not stop until he got to the taste of her underneath. 

He tried not to moon at her like an _or'dinii_ as they demolished the rest of the food, but he couldn’t force the smile from his face. His muscles were fixed there now. 

“So,” Nejia asked as their meandering conversation fell quiet and Torian considered the last sliver of meat versus his overfull stomach. “How badly did I beat out Mandalorian food? Be honest.”

“Did you ever have Mandalorian food? At your adoption maybe?” He couldn’t help but stress adoption, just a little. The impact of the word was visible, Nejia’s teasing edges softening a little further. 

“How would I know?” she asked. 

“If your sinuses got burned, it was probably Mandalorian. Different kind of heat, but strong like this,” he cradled his glass in both hands, flexing his fingers against the cool surface. “Thought I might make you some tiingilar. See what you think.” It would hardly count as a challenge after a meal like this but still, that was what you did when you found a keeper. And hopefully Nejia would decide he measured up.

“Oh,” she said faintly, looking surprised and delighted, “You mentioned you could cook, I’d almost forgotten. Pick a time. We’ll have dinner.” She glanced over the carnage of the kitchen with a sigh. “How do you say ‘glad we have a droid to clean this’ in Mando’a?”

“ _Gedeteyar par haar beskar'ad_ ,” he shrugged, “or near enough.”

Nejia nodded, stacking up a few of the abandoned bowls and leaving the other half for him. “You still up for teaching me?” 

“Of course.” Teaching was a duty; and he’d take any excuse to spend more time with her. “Be useful in the field too. Not many people outside the clans understand. Can’t teach the others though.” 

Nejia gave him a look best described as smouldering. “Private lessons from you? I can think of worse ways to spend my time.” 

“Could learn all kinds of things,” he teased back, hoping she wouldn’t call his bluff and hoping she would all at the same time. She’d be the one teaching him if he was ever so lucky as to get a chance for _private lessons_. Torian shook his head to clear the thought away before it could distract him too badly. Maybe she wouldn’t mind. He was a quick study. 

“At this rate I’ll be a real Mando in no time.” 

“You’re already a real Mando, Nejia,” she stopped in surprise at the vehemence in his voice but he held her gaze, unwilling to look away until he could be sure she understood. “Everything about you is already-” Perfect. “ _-shi_ _serim_.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  
**6 - For Mandalor**

  
  


It took Torian two days of combing the Nar Shadda Markets before he found the spices he needed. Deliberately avoiding Nejia’s curiosity, and Mako’s curiosity - damn boy knew where Mako’s loyalties lay. When he finally came back with a spring in his step, Nejia started to plan how she was going to get the others off the ship without just sealing them all into an escape pod. “Got everything,” he said as he set down a flimsiplast bag on the kitchen counter. “Tomorrow work for you?”

Nejia would make it work even if she had to freeze the whole planet in carbonite. “Tomorrow it is.”

-

She woke up to the smell of unfamiliar spices toasting. Nejia rolled over and stretched, feeling the softness of her sheets and the smile already welling up on her face. Torian was making her dinner. Then she checked the chrono and realized how monstrously early it was. She rolled out of bed, pulling on the clothes she’d left on the floor the night before, and went to investigate.

Torian already had a spread of ingredients out across the counter. He looked up from the meat he was cubing, and gave her a nod of greeting. 

“Is tiingilar a breakfast dish?” Nejia asked, wincing at the sleep-rough sound of her own voice. She rubbed her throat and moved towards the caf pot. 

“Gotta marinate,” Torian said, “Made you some already.” he waved her to where her favorite mug already sat on the kitchen table, gently steaming. 

Nejia looked at the cup, and back to Torian standing at her counter in sleep pants with his long sleeves pushed up, radiating a sort of soft happiness. “You made me caf.”

He nodded, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. “Good morning.” 

Rather than unpack any of that, Nejia wrapped her hands around the mug. “Are you a morning person, you utter monster?” She glared at him over the rim as she took a sip. It was perfect. He’d even added the touch of sweetener that she liked, but didn’t usually allow herself. Gorgeous, thoughtful bastard.

“Just excited.” 

“Haven’t had it in a while, huh?” 

“Something like that.” He didn’t add anything else, but he didn’t take his eyes off her, just kept watching with that quiet intensity of his. It wasn’t even flirting, really, but it never failed to send a shivering thrill over her. 

“Alright, well,” was all Nejia could manage. On autopilot, she moved toward the chiller for something she could start breakfast with, only to realize that Torian’s stupidly broad shoulders were going to be in the way. She hesitated, hovering at the line of flooring that delineated the kitchen from the path that ran down the center of the ship. 

“Hard having someone in your kitchen?” Torian didn’t quite smirk at her, but she could hear it in his voice. 

“Rude,” Nejia said, because she couldn’t deny it. “Is this a whole day’s process? Should I give you space to set everything up? Go put on a slinky dress?”

“Wouldn’t say no to a slinky dress,” he said with the easy confidence of the man who’d been totally unbothered to admit he’d been appreciating more than her aim. 

Nejia laughed, “I’m not sure I actually have a slinky dress. Been a while since I've needed one.” 

“Me either.” Amusement flickered across his face when she couldn’t stop from snorting into her caf. “No dress code. Just glad for the chance.” 

“At dinner?”

He shrugged almost imperceptibly, giving her another soft smile, and went back to chopping without a clarification. 

-

For her own sanity, Nejia dragged Mako out for breakfast the moment she was awake enough. They spent the day on the promenade, meeting up with Gault once he’d sold the crates he’d picked up on Dantooine to whatever shady contact he had. Over drinks at the cantina, they fell back into their old bickering about the quality of the _Mantis_ ’ accommodations. This led to Gault insisting they come with him to a ‘furniture store’ that was most definitely run by a fence, Mako immediately falling in love with half the stock, and Nejia putting her foot down much too late. 

Now, an hour later, the three of them were trying and failing to maneuver a massive l-shaped couch up the narrow stairs of the _Mantis_ while Blizz rushed back and forth between them, chittering unhelpful suggestions. 

“Come on guys,” Nejia’s muscles screamed as she tried to balance the unwieldy thing and haul it further up at the same time, “all you have to do is lift and I can pull it the rest of the way.” 

For a second Gault looked like he was going to give it his all, then abruptly let go, making Mako squeak and drop their end as the whole weight of it fell to her. “Nope,” he said, “I’m done.” 

“Gault!” 

“This body’s not built for manual labour, boss. Why do you think I turned to a life of crime?”

“Because you love crime. Now help me!”

Mako leaned forward until she was stretched out on the upholstered back of the couch, pillowing her head on her arms. “I think it’s good here.” 

“Buying this was your idea, Mako!” 

“Why are we not getting tall, blond, and Mando to do this, anyway? Put all those muscles in his head to use.”

“Torian’s working,” Nejia said, cursing herself when Gault smirked. 

“He is not, he’s standing behind you laughing like a kowakian monkey-lizard.” 

She whipped around, stomach dropping, to see Torian with a hand over his face, failing to smother a grin. Nejia straightened, dropping her end of the couch and ignoring Mako’s noise of surprise as it slid further down the stairs. She put a hand on her hip and tried for an insouciant shrug. “It cost the same as a slinky dress.”

“Have to think about whether it was worth it.” He shifted closer and Nejia fought not to lean in towards him. Cursing herself when he just moved past her to vault over the upturned couch and land squarely between Mako and Gault. “Say when.” 

Nejia shook herself out of her daze. “Alright, pull.” Between them, the whole thing lifted easily, Mako and Blizz scrambling underneath to get behind Nejia and clear a space around the holoterminal. Mako had gotten the ship’s measurements perfect, and the couch fit snugly into place, its dark teal colour standing out well against the warm walls. Nejia threw herself down and stretched her legs out, covering as much space as possible. 

“Hey, move over!” 

“Oh sorry,” Nejia tucked her arms behind her head. “Couch privileges are reserved for people who actually helped.” 

“Incoming!” From the cargo bay, Gault threw the cushions over the stair railing. Mako caught one and tossed it right at her face. 

“How’s that for helping!”

“Fine.” Nejia sighed dramatically and shifted over, placing cushions as she went. “Come test it out then.” 

Mako dropped down practically on top of her, Blizz scurrying over to post up next to Mako. “Well save me a spot!” Gault groused, banging his way up the stairs. Torian glanced over the spaces at either end of the couch and immediately squeezed in between Nejia and the arm, ignoring the way she threatened him with her elbow. “Now isn’t that a sight.” Gault took the last empty space and stretched out with a sigh of satisfaction, shoving all of them over. “Real seating!” 

Mako pushed back, edging around Blizz who said something filthy in Huttees and wedged himself between Mako, Nejia and the cushions. Nejia twisted, trying to get out of the way, and was flattened backwards until her shoulders hit the arm of the couch and she was nearly lying across Torian’s lap. “Knock it off, you animals!” 

“So,” Mako resettled herself, “what are we watching?” 

“I don’t care but I am not getting up,” Gault said emphatically. Blizz seemed content to perch on the back of the couch, slowly crushing Nejia into place with the cushions. The holoterminal flickered on as Mako connected her implants to it. 

Nejia sighed and looked up at Torian, surprised to find him already looking back. His arm was under her neck, she realized. Supporting her head. “Is it almost time for dinner?” 

“I can get it started,” she felt him flex to get up, then pause when she didn’t move. “Can’t do it from here though.”

“Right.” With all the total lack of dignity she could muster, Nejia rolled out of her awkward position, landing on the floor in what was just barely not a heap. “I am going to wash this moon off of me,” she declared. “Anyone who wrecks the couch has the replacement coming out of their next cut.” 

She retreated to the fresher in her quarters and, since Mezenti Spaceport charged extra for a water hook-up, experimented with trying to drown herself in a sonic shower.

By the time she felt fortified enough to step out, there was a mouthwatering smell of cooking meat and caramelized onions wafting through the air. Nejia managed her hair in less than a minute and then spent considerably longer staring into her wardrobe.

Slinky dress jokes aside, she didn’t feel like showing up in her armour would be the right choice. Not that dinner was a thing, it was just dinner. But things were always kind of a .... _thing_ with Torian. 

He’d been obvious with his quiet, understated admiration from the first time they’d spoken. And Nejia had admired right back, because he was cute and because she knew how the game went with the kind of men who found a dangerous woman in durasteel attractive. They wanted her to make all the first moves. And usually they wanted her to step on them. 

But every time she stepped forward with Torian, he stepped back. That spark of interest got stronger, but when she purred out a line that should have ended in an invitation to bed, he’d just acknowledge the point. Yes, I do want to impress you; yes, I am looking at you with the kind of interest you’re teasing me about; I don’t want to introduce you to my best friend yet because I think you might like him better. It was totally contrary to anything Nejia had ever learned, been told, or witnessed of flirting. It was driving her insane. 

And the worst part was she liked it _so much_. Torian gave her heart palpitations, he made her want to scream in giddiness and frustration, but he also felt inevitable. Like something fixed and certain. 

It was nice. And also terrifying. Which was a really hard mood to dress for. 

Nejia eventually pulled out a top that fastened at the nape of her neck, leaving her back bare to the waist - something she’d picked up the last time Mako wanted to go on a girls’ night. It showed off the hooked line of scar tissue under her left shoulder blade, where a Trandoshan had gotten his knife in on her first year hunting.

Gault whistled when she stepped out of her room and Nejia cursed as she realized what installing a couch around the holo right outside her bedroom door was going to do to her privacy. “Well it looks like someone is planning quite the evening. Hate to say I told you so.” 

“You love to say I told you so.” Nejia leaned against the holoterminal, crossing her arms. “Okay, how much?”

His eyes sparkled. “So mercenary! As if I could ever put a price on helping my very dear friend-” 

“Gault how much to get you, Mako, and Blizz out of here?”

“Why in the worlds would we want to miss out on what Torian is cooking? It smells fabulous by the way.” 

“Your window for credits is closing,” she warned in a sing-song, “And I can almost guarantee dinner is going to be spicy.” 

“What is it with the two of you? Why is everything you like inedible?”

“Two hundred credits, Gault.” 

“Five hundred.”

“Three.” 

“Four and I take them to the casino after.” 

“Done,” she dug a loaded credit chit out of her pocket and flipped it into his outstretched hand. “Get the fuck off my ship.” 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Gault winked. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

Nejia threw him a gesture that would get her arrested on Dromond Kass and marched for the kitchen before her nerves could get the better of her. 

Torian was sitting on the counter, flipping a wooden spoon in one hand. “The others headed out?” There was a hunted look to him that Nejia couldn’t rightly call nervousness, because Torian didn’t get nervous, but it brought her up short. 

The last thing she wanted to do was make him feel like he _couldn’t_ step back. “I can grab them?” They hadn’t even left yet. Gault’s teasing would be merciless, but that was fine. 

He shook his head and the knot in her chest eased, slightly. “Made enough to share. But happy for the quiet.” 

“Okay.” Okay. Nejia needed a drink. She nodded a third time, stupidly, moving to stare blankly into the chiller for a moment, and heard him slide off the counter behind her. “You want anything?”

She turned to see his gaze fixed firmly on the exposed line of her spine. “Few things I can think of.” 

Oh, _oh_. Nejia looked immediately back into the chiller to hide her face as a bolt of lust pulsed through her. Feeling wicked she twisted, just slightly, deliberately arching her back so her shoulder muscles would stand out. Goosebumps prickled over her skin, as she was caught by the fantasy of him moving closer, crowding her enough that she’d feel the heat of him against her back. His breath on her neck, his big, warm hands on her skin… so vivid she could almost feel it. 

“Beer?” she managed. 

“Sure.”

She got in too close to hand it to him. Leaning against the counter and looking up at him as she let her lips linger over the neck of the bottle because if he was going to immolate her with a look and then not touch, she was going to play dirty. “So, tell me about tiingilar.” 

He took a long swallow before he spoke and Nejia ready to count it as a win from someone so stoic until his words settled on her. “Might not be worth four hundred credits.”

She managed not to choke on her beer, but it was a near thing. “You were not supposed to hear that.” He shrugged, unrepentant, and Nejia decided that the only way out was through. “You can get a lot on Nar Shaddaa for four hundred credits,” she mused. “What are mine gonna buy me?”

“Didn’t pay me,” Torian reminded her, “but a history lesson is free.” 

He explained the origins of the dish as he pulled the heavy pot from the oven. Torian ladled it out into two shallow bowls and added a sprinkle of chopped herbs to each before bringing it to the table. “Not as pretty as yours.” 

“It only matters if it tastes good.” Nejia waved away his concerns. The tiingilar looked delicious anyway, a soft pile of rice tinted golden from the spices, studded with vegetables and shreds of dark meat. It smelled pungent and exotic, overlaid with the green scent of the herbs. Torian was watching her, tense with anticipation and not making any move to eat himself. Nejia stared him down as she took a massive bite. 

The first thing she got was a slight sweetness, overwhelmed almost immediately by the flavour of the meat that had spread into the rice and vegetables it’d cooked with. There was a vinegar tang to it, mellowed by how long the dish had cooked, but still pleasantly sharp. Then the heat began to spread, tingling across her tongue and through her nose, stronger when she took a deep breath in. A noise of surprise spilled out of her at the ticking feeling and she took another bite, just to feel it intensify. 

“This is fantastic,” she said around the mouthful, and Torian grinned and started to dig in. 

He might have made enough for the whole crew but between them they managed to polish off a substantial portion. Once she’d cleaned her bowl for the second time Nejia sat back and raised her beer in salute. “Alright, I concede that you can throw down in the kitchen, Cadera. A spread like this must impress all the girls.”

He shook his head, a little redness creeping up his ears and a cocky smile on his face. “They say any woman who can survive a plate of tiingilar is a keeper.”

Nejia leaned in, propping her chin up on one hand. “You gonna keep me?” she purred, hamming up the flirtation as much as she could just to see if she could get that blush to spread. 

“Keep up with you. Definitely.” Torian nodded, emphatically.

Which was so much better, because it meant his steady presence on her six. His strength at her side. Nejia seriously resisted the urge to fold her face into her arms and scream. “Well then,” she stood instead, sauntering out of the kitchen with a gesturing tilt of her head, “keep up.” 

She’d wanted to get away from the table between them, but the mood seemed to dip as soon as she moved, and Nejia found she was suddenly nervous. “Wanted your approach opinion on this new blacklist bounty-” she started, because work was always safe. They’d get comfortable and she’d steer things back on track. No rush. 

The couch had, of course, been left in a state of carnage. Nejia scooped up a scattered pillow with one foot, kicking it back and forth for a moment before bouncing it off her knee and onto the couch. She raised both arms in triumph, turning to Torian for approval where he was hovering in the doorway with a strange look on his face. “Something on your mind?” 

“I’m in love with you.”

The half full bottle slipped from Nejia’s fingers, bounced against the deckplates and started spilling out over her boots, as a startled noise that was almost a laugh slipped out of her. Of course. Of course now. Her fucking _fearless_ boy. 

His face shuttered and he ducked his head, muttering something about a towel. 

“Fuck! No,” Nejia almost leapt across the room to catch his hands before he could turn away, holding them both, keeping him with her, “Torian…” 

“Wanted to say something for a while,” he said, eyes on their joined hands. “Just trying to figure out if I’ve gotten us both in trouble with Mandalore. But maybe I’m only causing trouble for me.” he shook his head, still not looking at her. 

It was a point, and one Nejia might have to deal with some nebulous day in the future when she wasn’t stepping, finally, into the circle of his arms, running her fingers, finally, over the line of his jaw, so she could draw him down and finally, finally kiss him. 

He returned the kiss instantly, his hand sliding to the small of her back and pulling her against him. Nejia slid one hand into his hair, clinging tight to him, and tilted his head so they could slot together so perfectly. 

Slowly, Torian pulled back. “Nejia?” he was panting softly and she couldn’t resist putting one hand between them to gently trace the line of his lower lip. Torian kissed her fingertips, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, and she shivered. He pressed their foreheads together, cupping the back of her neck with an almost pained expression. “Nejia, I need to know-” 

She replaced her fingers with her lips and kissed him again. “I love you too.” The words were barely a whisper, shaped against his mouth. “Stop worrying.” 

Torian groaned and deepened the kiss, sweeping her up in his arms. Nejia’s skin felt like it was on fire, and embarrassing, needy little noises kept slipping out of her. Her hands fluttered as she tried to touch him everywhere at once.

She swung them around as best she could, till she could push him back toward the couch. Torian went reluctantly, by degrees and trying to keep as much contact between them as possible. She leaned down after him, caught between desperately never wanting the kiss to stop and the distracting squelch of her beer soaked boots. Nejia managed to toe them off and kick them away, sliding finally into his lap. She rolled her hips, pressing close and swallowing his noise of shock and pleasure. Torian’s hands clutched at her and he broke away, his head lolling back against the couch and leaving his neck exposed to her greedy kisses. 

“Wait,” he gasped, the word hitching as she bit down, lightly. “Wait, wait.” She pressed one last soft kiss to his skin and pulled back with a languid, questioning hum. “I - I just - I don’t,” stuttering twice in one night. A new record. “Slow?” he managed, finally.

“Whatever you want,” Nejia agreed, before her head cleared and she got a proper look at the trepidation on his face. Her ardour cooled like she’d be dunked into ice water. “Tor,” she cupped his jaw again, stroking her thumbs over the brands on his cheeks. “I’m happy just to have this. I’ll follow your lead.” His eyes closed and she kissed each eyelid in turn, feeling them flutter against her lips. “On one condition,” she said seriously, “eventually, we are defiling the shit out of this couch.”

He laughed, bright and full of joy, scooping her off his lap and half tackling her onto the couch for another round of feverish kisses. Their hips pressed together and Nejia couldn’t stop the moan that ripped from her throat at the feeling of him pressing against her. Torian shuddered, hips snapping forward once before he got himself under control, and buried his face in her neck. 

Wanting was apparently not the problem. Nejia pulled him up to her again, kissing the flaring blush on his cheeks. She might catch fire before he was ready, but she had hands. It was fine. And besides, now she knew what he felt like over her, the taste of him, the little sound he made at the back of his throat when she tugged his hair. Nejia did it again, bringing his mouth back to hers. She’d wait forever and it would be worth it. Cheap at four million credits. 

He pulled back as their kisses slowed again, pushing a lock of hair gently back from her face. “ _Ni kyr’tayl_ ,” he said softly, lips swollen and eyes bright, “ _gar darasuum_. I know you, forever.”

Nejia could tell instantly that it meant something. Something it didn’t mean to say ‘I love you’ in Basic. “Are you sure?” He did know her. She’d shared more of herself with Torian than anyone else in longer than she could remember. And she knew him. His history, his drives. But it was so much, and she did not want to fuck it up. 

“Oh, _cyare_.” Torian kissed her brow, achingly gentle. 

Nejia managed to wait until he pulled back to ask, “That a yes?”

Torian shook his head. “Beloved. _Cyare_ ,” he corrected. And while she was still melting into a puddle from that, “Absolutely certain.”

She kissed him again so he would stop talking. 

Downstairs, the airlock door banged open. Torian gathered her against his body and rolled them both off the couch in one smooth motion, tucking them into cover behind the bulky shape of the holoterminal. 

“Boss!” Mako shouted. “We’ve got trouble! Blizz got arrested by the Cartel and Drooga the Hutt is trying to buy him!” 

The tension left them both in a rush and Nejia groaned into Torian’s neck. She pulled back, trying not to whine at the loss of contact. Every inch of her was still keyed up and humming where they were pressed together. “ _Darasuum_?” she asked, half teasing, half dubious.

“ _Darasuum_.” He nodded and levered them both up, pressing another kiss to her lips. “However long forever turns out to be, I’m yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> jare’la - asking for it  
> gar’gemas cuyin mesh’la - your hair is beautiful  
> yai’yai - richly nourishing  
> heturam - mouthburn; a type of spicy  
> mandokarla - having the right stuff, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue  
> demagolka - someone who commits atrocities, a real-life monster  
> kandosii'la - stunning  
> Me'vaar ti gar? - You okay?  
> Haar'chak! Ulyc, cyar’ika, ne cabur teh kalikin gar - Dammit! Careful, sweetheart, I can't protect you from stabbing yourself  
> Scrann ne’shupuur gar - Food's not worth an injury  
> Me’bana? - What is it?  
> jaro - death wish, foolish risk  
> gai bal manda - adoption ceremony. giving of name and soul  
> utreekov shabiir - idiot screw-up  
> buir - parent  
> verd’ika - little soldier  
> haashun - dehydrated bread  
> draluram - bright mouth; strongly flavoured food  
> or'dinii - fool  
> Gedeteyar par haar beskar'ad - Be thankful for the droid  
> shi serim - just correct
> 
> Beta'd by the always amazing ReleaseTheSheep!


End file.
